


Making Good

by wonderwoundedhearers



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Divergent from MCU, F/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7103026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderwoundedhearers/pseuds/wonderwoundedhearers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy's drunk sexting actually leads to something other than disaster, and Bucky helps her put her smart mouth to some use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Good

**Author's Note:**

> This is me taking more than a dip into the Marvel'verse after spending so long just watching from the sidelines. I'm expecting to write more for this storyline, maybe a series. We'll see.

It had been a total accident, she swears. Hand to God and everything.

 

Darcy had gotten drunk off tequila and late-night conversations with Jane, the two of them having stopped at the only bar in town to celebrate their co-written paper getting published by an _actual_ science journal, which had then led to Darcy spilling all her frustration about her love life or lack thereof post-London for any barfly to hear, while Jane scribbled equations on a napkin.

 

She and Jane, who could hold her liquor about as well as Darcy could – which wasn’t well at all – had then stumbled back to the New Mexico lab and bid goodnight over junk food snacks as they made their way to bed.

 

It had been then, as Darcy chowed down on a spray cheese-stuffed tortilla, that she had felt the familiar flicker of what she liked to call _tequila lust_.

 

Instead of throwing her tortilla to one side and slipping her fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans, she had decided to very carefully, decidedly, and _drunkenly_ finish her snack, and then remove every piece of clothing she’d had on, boots to bra.

 

Her ramblings with Jane still fresh in her mind, she had lain back in bed naked, and tapped out a text to one of her numerous exes that were still listed in her contacts for this very reason: drunk, lonely sexting.

 

Darcy had misspelt a few words here and there, but overall she thought her two-message long narrative of what she’d wanted to do to him, starting out tame before heading to downright _filthy_ , had been worthy of a pat on the back considering it had taken her ten minutes to get the lab key in the lock when they had first come home.

 

Biting her lip, face illuminated by her phone in the dark, she had scrolled her list of contacts, humming the Eagles song that had been on in the bar.

 

Barry hadn’t been the worst sex of her life, but he’d always gotten her hotter under the collar over the phone than in real life, where his performance had lacked somewhat.

 

But Darcy had picked him out as the best of a bad bunch. Desperation was, after all, a side effect of the tequila.

 

She had sent the message, and it had taken him so long to reply that she had thought that maybe he had a new girlfriend, or even that he was asleep because it _was_ three in the morning, when her phone had buzzed against her bare breast and she had picked it up to see that he might have needed a bit of persuading.

 

_Wrong person?_

_No. Definitely wanted you_

Darcy had smirked to herself, feeling a little bit powerful knowing she was using him just for tonight. She had thought to herself that she’d probably delete him tomorrow.

 

_We don’t talk much_

_We don’t need to talk_

Darcy had rubbed her thighs together, anticipation building low in her stomach. She had kind of liked the chase to it. They were usually so easy. An answer had come a few minutes later, and she had been glad he had decided to play along.

 

_How are you?_

_Naked_. _Join me?_

She had wriggled beneath the white bed covers, the AC having chilled her skin. It had taken a little while for him to reply after that, and when he had answered, she’d been beginning to doze, but for Darcy it had just been that perfect state where she was so relaxed and comfortable, it made the sex better.

 

_How?_

_Get naked. I’ll tell you_

It had been a little awkward to text and touch at the same time, but the slight difficulty had just heightened the good feelings she got from running her fingernails down her belly to between her thighs. Another buzz.

 

_Done_

Darcy had smiled, mischievous, and freeing both hands from the covers, she had put her thumbs to their story-telling work, thinking of a good-looking stranger, her teeth pressed to his neck. God knew, she hadn’t wanted to imagine Barry. Sent.

 

_Jesus_

She had smirked, tapping out further fantasies, her deft one-handed texting skills being honed even while drunk as she had dragged her left hand lazily across her tight nipples. Another buzz.

 

_Still there?_

_I wouldn’t leave you high and dry_

Darcy had sent the message she had been composing previously and had waited with baited breath for the reply, her fingertips trailing down to her thigh. She hadn’t been disappointed.

 

_You’re killing me_

Darcy had felt fleeting frustration and she had known that she was done toying with him. It had been his turn.

 

_Me now_

She had waited, fingers idly toying with the soft curls between her legs, her toes curling beneath the sheets. It had taken a while, but it seemed like he was catching up with her program.

 

_Can’t say I never thought about it. You’re beautiful. Striking. Hell of a mouth on you_

Darcy had been disappointed at first – confused, too, but that would be answered later, with sober regret and utter dread over her special hangover coffee blend – but then a second text had followed hot on the heels of the last.

 

_I want to show you where to put it_

He had been warming up to it nicely then. Her fingertip had brushed her clit. She hadn’t even had to prompt him with a further text. It had been like this beautiful man in her head was whispering right in her ear, telling her all the things he could do with a mouth like hers, and before she had known it she had been rubbing in earnest, desperate to come, biting against the coverlet to muffle her moans.

 

He had told her about her ass, her hips, how he knew how to hold her curves, how he wasn’t so out of the game that he didn’t know how to lay it down just right – how to lay _her_.

 

She had read the words until they blurred before her eyes, until she didn’t care about them any more, only what she had been feeling, and she had come, sharp and sweet, sweat on her forehead.

 

_Came_

 

Darcy had tapped this out tiredly, bleary eyed and sleepy, more of a courtesy text than anything, letting him know that the tequila lust spell had broken and she was going to bed to wake up with a hell of a head in the morning.

 

She had done just that, her phone blinking at her from her naked chest where she had been twisted up in the sheets, the screen on her cell screaming low battery, and she had reached over in the bright New Mexico sunlight – why hadn’t closing the curtains been high on her list of priorities last night again? – squinting and digging around by the side of the bed, in her pile of discarded clothes, for her phone charger.

 

Darcy had heard Jane in the kitchen, could smell her friend’s own hangover cure of huevos rancheros frying, and as Darcy had found the cable and taken three stabs at plugging it into her phone, she had almost forgotten about last night’s drunken sext escapade. _Sextcapade_ , she had thought smugly.

 

Except the conversation screen from last night had sprung up, along with all the hazy memories and poor decisions that had gone with it, and now here she is as she reads the last message that had been sent, one that was not hers, and she realises she had never messaged Barry in the first place, but Bucky.

 

_Me too_

* * *

 

 

When the invite to the party in New York had come, Darcy had seen it arrive as a pop-up on Jane’s computer as she was typing her usual responses to the emails Jane was inundated with.

 

It had become part of Darcy’s job, the one that she had undertaken after graduating and pledging her services to Jane full-time in a poetic oath that would have made Thor proud – and _did_ – that she would deal with all the fallout of Jane becoming vastly more recognised in her field. This meant every morning between nine and eleven was spent answering emails that varied from the academic to the creepy, so Jane wouldn’t be distracted from the science.

 

Or a nap, as was the case when Darcy had clicked on the pop-up, the Stark letterhead bannered across the top of the email, Jane snoring on the couch at her side.

 

Except this email hadn’t been the generic kind of crap that usually came into Jane’s Gmail for Stark expo events, but rather a personalised message from Tony that had invited Jane and Darcy to New York ASAP for a get-together to celebrate his birthday, and, as he had said, because they probably needed the desert knocked out of them.

 

Jane had leapt at the idea over her Cheerios when Darcy had mentioned it to her an hour later, and Darcy had known it was because she was missing Thor and she’d hit a snag in her science, one that a girls night in just couldn’t fix, but maybe an all-expenses paid trip to Tony’s tower of science in the Big Apple could.

 

Darcy had barely had time to pack some clothes and her iPod before Jane had already called up the airline and got them the next tickets to New York on Tony’s dime.

 

Stood in her cropped swing vest and cut-offs in the cool New York night air outside the airport, Darcy now has time to wonder if it had been the best of plans to up and leave without a thought.

 

She hadn’t even had time to consider the whole Bucky fiasco of last month, something she still hasn’t told Jane because the shame is just too much. Especially considering she and Bucky are acquaintances at best, his number only being on her phone from the last time they had visited the city when he had been the only one in residence in the Tower and their first emergency point of contact.

 

Jane spots a sign with their name marked on it and pulls Darcy over to hitch their ride with their chauffer. They’re both immediately swept away in the familiar sights and sounds, helped along with complementary champagne in the back of the car, so much so that Darcy forgets to be nervous.

 

Until, that is, they arrive at the Tower and take the elevator up to the guest rooms, finding Steve waiting for them as their welcome party, tight t-shirt and a sincere smile.

 

The sight of him just makes her sweat.

 

Lying by omission to Captain America when he asks how she’s doing and what she’s been up to in the past few months feels like lying to a priest.

 

 _I sexted your best friend and he was good_ , is not a topic of conversation she wants to explore, but not saying it and instead telling him that they are published now and all that self-congratulatory obligatory crap feels worse.

 

She wonders if Nat or Clint will be able to read the shame rolling off of her as she drags her heeled boots after Steve, who steers them away from the guest rooms, into Stark’s lounge to greet everyone already gathered there.

 

Darcy is glad to see Bucky isn’t among them, meaning she can shrug off her worry like she’s shrugged off her luggage and goes to tease Clint about the Hawkeye merch she had spotted in a store window coming from the airport.

 

He points to the shirt tied around her waist. “Hick fashion in now?”

 

Darcy slaps his finger away. “At least I actually _left_ the nineties.”

 

Clint smirks at her, light blue eyes glinting. “Girl, I _missed_ you.”

 

Darcy throws her arm around his neck and takes him to the bar, but she is stopped short when she sees that Bucky has arrived, hair in a damn man bun and arms laid bare in a muscle shirt. He looks like he’s just been working out and stopped by to see what the noise was about.

 

His blue eyes meet hers, and he fucking smirks.

 

Clint squirms in what has become her headlock. “Uh, Darce?”

 

She releases him just as Tony makes his appearance across the room, Pepper at his side and Rhodes not far behind, the whole gang gathering just like they always do at events like this. Tony declines to make a speech yet, as usual, but offers up a free bar, _as usual_ , to get the party going before later, when there will be music, dancing, and pizza, of course.

 

“I’m going out to a gala with Pep,” he tells her five minutes later, tapping at his watch screen, after Darcy had finally stopped sweating about the heavy gaze she swears she can still feel on her back. “But I’ll be back after for a rematch of my last birthday showdown.”

 

“Believe me, no more tequila for me,” Darcy says, and Tony looks up then, eyebrow cocked above his glasses.

 

She mirrors him back.

 

“We’ll see,” he tells her seriously, pointing, leaving her with the memories of last year and, following similarly, last month.

 

“No more tequila,” Darcy says under her breath as she reaches for a mimosa to settle her nerves.

 

She’s on her second when she feels a presence at her back as she stands at the bar, and she should have known not to stand alone, to slip into one of the groups that have paired off already to chat after not seeing each other for a while, but, of course, Darcy just had to end up with him at a bar of all places.

 

“Lewis,” Bucky greets, his tone playful and all-knowing and more than a touch smug.

 

Darcy lifts an eyebrow, veiling her caution with carelessness. “I think we’re on a first name basis now.”

 

If he’s surprised she’s said as much, he doesn’t show it.

 

“ _Darcy_.”

 

Bad, bad idea. She shouldn’t drink, _ever_. Period. Not even mimosas.

 

She smiles serenely, sipping from her glass, covering her gulp. “Bucky.”

 

All Darcy can think of is that fantasy mystery guy she had made up in her head that night, sucking at her neck and _more_ , and who now looks awfully like the tall, muscular assassin stood across from her.

 

God, she hopes Wanda hasn’t tuned in to what she must be broadcasting loud and clear.

 

He pushes a hand through his damp hair. “I read your paper.”

 

The paper that lead her to sexting him – yes, she remembers it well.

 

Instead she coolly replies, “Really.”

 

They talk about wormholes and astronomical anomalies for a few minutes, but underneath it all, there’s this tension, and it doesn’t help that her legs are bare in front of this guy, the guy who she’d told how she’d wrap them around him. They talk about her and Jane running around New Mexico, but the way he’s looking at her says he’s thinking about anything but.

 

He’s just got everything going for him, that dark scruff across his jaw, that single piece of hair falling into his eyes...just everything. _Everything._

Jane knocks Darcy out of her spiralling thoughts by coming over and shoving at her arm, asking where she put her notes because she _needs_ to show Bruce, and when Darcy turns back, he’s gone.

 

Presumably to take a shower. Something which Darcy definitely does not need to think about, at all.

 

* * *

 

 

“Red or black?”

 

“Why does it matter?” Jane asks, pulling on her nicest dress, the one without any ink stains on. “Who are you dressing for?”

 

“Me,” Darcy says flatly, though even she isn’t sure it’s the entire truth as she holds up her red and black dresses in front of herself in the mirror.

 

Jane squints at her back. “The blue one.”

 

She’s gone before Darcy can open her mouth, presumably to start up another conversation with Bruce at the party to kick start her science again, and Darcy realises, looking at the time on her phone, if she wants a good slice of pizza, she better get out there.

 

She throws aside the black and red dresses and pries her blue dress out of her bag, along with the only pair of heels she brought with her, before slipping in her contacts in the bathroom mirror and taking the short walk to where the party is being held, in the terraced lounge.

 

People have already arrived, spilling into seats and around tables, mingling under the mood lighting as music pours from the surround sound, giving Darcy a rhythm to match as she slips across the room, through the crowd, recognising faces here and there, but her prize is the pizza.

 

Of course Clint is already there, in the same clothes as earlier, his hair a rough blond mess.

 

“S’up,” he mouths around a pepperoni slice.

 

Darcy picks herself a cheesy piece of pie, nudging Clint in the side with her elbow to reach her bounty. He mutters something that is lost under a Beyoncé track, but keeps her company as they eat.

 

Eventually she makes her way around the room, forgetting her nerves and spending an hour with Pietro, catching up on his recent exploits in South America.

 

Tony comes in somewhere around midnight, dressed to the nines with his black tie hanging loose, and a birthday cheer goes up as he _finally_ makes a speech about how there’s never any pizza left but, hey, at least they’ve saved him some Scotch. Then the music goes back up and he calls for a round of birthday shot showdown, which had been her downfall last year, and so before he can spot her, Darcy deftly escapes with the last slice of cheese pizza to the down-downstairs kitchen, the one solely for residents only and requires a retinal scan to gain access.

 

That’s where she stays, kicking off her heels and digging into her pizza stood at the breakfast bar, for the next ten minutes.

 

Finishing her pizza to the crust, thinking Tony should have forgotten all about mixing her with his special brand of shots by now, she’s ready to make her way back upstairs, when the door to the kitchen opens just as she’s slipping her heels back on.

 

Of course it’s Bucky, because Darcy’s never been able to catch a break, and her luck isn’t about to let her off the hook just yet.

 

She had hoped not to have this conversation over the course of the long weekend away, but with the look in Bucky’s eye as the door shushes shut behind him, she doesn’t think she is going to be able to get away with it.

 

Darcy sighs, thankful at least they’re on their own. “You like pizza crust?”

 

Bucky, striding to her with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, frees his right hand to pluck the thick pizza crust from her grip. “You bet.”

 

He leans with her on the edge of the breakfast bar as he bites into the crust, slow and deliberate, giving her nothing but time to look him over, from his hair still pulled back to his clean grey t-shirt that hugs his outline.

 

“You didn’t want to come to the party?”

 

Bucky lifts his other hand, the metal one, and motions in a manner that Steve often also makes instead of shrugging.

 

“I’m better company at the wind-down,” he tells her after his third and last bite. “What about you?”

 

Darcy rolls her shoulder half-heartedly. “Avoiding Tony. He always ropes me into birthday shots. Kind of want to remember one party at least.”

 

Bucky’s eyes catch hers. “What about one night?”

 

Well, he cuts straight to the point, she’ll give him that.

 

“Yes, I remember _that_. I was drunk enough to do it, not forget it.”

 

His gaze is magnetic. Darcy can’t look away as Bucky lifts off of his forearms where he’s resting on the counter and turns to her, so close she can smell the scent of him.

 

She’s always been a sucker for nice cologne.

 

“Good.”

 

The word resonates in her belly, and now she wonders if she should have gotten drunk, just to have this conversation.

 

Instead, Darcy bravely turns to meet Bucky, mirroring him, casual as he is, at least on the outside.

 

“Good?” She queries, lifting her chin.

 

Bucky smiles, and damn him if it isn’t a long slow smirk that makes her want to squeeze her thighs together like she had that night.

 

“I’m gonna need you to remember what I promised if I’m gonna make good.”

 

Darcy swallows, her mouth turning as dry as New Mexico, and good might just be her new favourite word if he keeps saying it like that, like it’s _very_ , _very_ good.

 

She remembers what he wrote – ‘ _Me too_ ’ – and it rings through her head until she can’t help but finally imagine him in a similar state to how she had been, naked, hands wandering and _working_.

 

“Fuck,” she says.

 

“Well, that _is_ the idea.”

 

He makes her flustered, because this is something she had never seen coming.

 

Sure, she’d thought about it, all those times they’d met and exchanged pleasantries or directions to where things were in the Tower when she first visited, but he had always been aloof, avoidable, unattainable, so far removed from her and maybe even from himself.

 

It always seemed like Bucky was keeping his distance, but now it seems like he’s decided he’s had enough distance with her.

 

“You said you couldn’t say you’ve never thought about it,” Darcy reminds him abruptly, and Bucky laughs, soft and low, glancing down before looking back up at her from beneath his eyelashes, his bionic hand grazing the back of his neck in an open gesture.

 

He really has come a long way from the cagey silent figure always stood beside Steve or Sam.

 

Bucky’s smile draws her in closer, until there’s only a hot breath between them.

 

“Like I said, hell of a mouth on you,” he breathes.

 

Darcy thinks, in the following second of tension between them, of all the times he answered her, clipped and short, or called her _Lewis_ , of when he had been there when she had yelled something at Clint or yammered on with Tasha, and how it might have developed, how he might have looked at her mouth and _thought_.

 

One hand pushes into the hair at the nape of his neck as the other grasps the front of his t-shirt in her fist as she lays a hot kiss on him, pulling him to her, up to his full height, enjoying the feel of having to tilt her face to keep their lips together even with her in heels.

 

That anticipation is rising low in her belly again.

 

Bucky catches on quick, and Darcy has the fleeting thought of when the last time he might have done this was, but then it vanishes as soon as his hands find her waist, chaste and teasing, fingertips pressing lightly. Too light.

 

Darcy slips her arms around Bucky’s neck, sighing into the kiss, pulling him closer, forcing his arms around her waist, wrapping tight. The metal of his left arm feels cool through her dress, and Darcy’s breath hitches in her chest.

 

She’d always wondered how that might feel, and now she knows. It feels damn good.

 

Why hadn’t they done this earlier? Why had it taken drunk Darcy sexting him for Bucky to realise how good this might feel?

 

Her questions will have answers to them later, she’ll make sure of it, but for now she moves with him as Bucky leans back against the breakfast bar, changing the angle of the kiss, making it slow and sexy, bringing her fully against his chest, up on the tips of her toes in her heels.

 

Damn but did the forties teach men to kiss.

 

Darcy can’t help but let slip a little moan and Bucky moves that talented mouth of his against hers, lips plucking, warm and soft, the scratch of his soft stubble barely an afterthought, but a delicious one at that.

 

She wonders how it would feel against the inside of her thigh.

 

Eventually they break apart, kisses becoming smaller and smaller, until their lips are just brushing, eyes open, breathing harder than they had before they’d started.

 

Bucky’s watching her face intently, eyes heavily lidded, his tongue tracing his lower lip.

 

Darcy can’t help but let loose a soft, “ _Fuck_.”

 

Their gazes lock.

 

“There’s that word again,” Bucky says, whisper quiet. “You want that?”

 

Darcy knows that this is the point of no return, and she’s always wanted to dash that line, streaking towards the finish like a bat out of hell.

 

“Dude, _yes_.”

 

Bucky laughs at that, but it’s short-lived, replaced by that deadly intent again. He takes her hand, pulling her out of the kitchen, across the sparkling floors to where she just does not care.

 

“My room,” he explains, low and clipped, but this time, unlike all the times she’s heard that tone in the past few years, the short answer hits her deep in her gut, because he sounds just as desperate and she is.

 

They reach the elevator outside of the kitchen to take them to the upper floors, and Tony’s AI – which one is he even using now? – doesn’t need their security ID to take them to Bucky’s floor, as it has state of the art facial recognition programming, which is convenient when you have fingers tracing up your neck from behind, making you forget your own damn name.

 

It doesn’t matter that they’ll be there in seconds. It doesn’t even matter that someone could see this security footage.

 

Darcy reaches back to where Bucky stands behind her and finds his hip, the denim of his jeans soft as she traces one red fingernail tantalisingly across his thigh and the zipper with a satisfying _scritch_.

 

Hot lips caress her ear, cool fingers pressing her long dark curls back so he can whisper to her there.

 

“ _Hot damn, Darce_.”

 

It’s the first time he’s called her that and she _likes_ it. Her skin catches a chill, a _good_ one, and just as she presses back against him ready to show him more, to earn more of that delicious Brooklyn accent that crawls out when he gets hot and bothered, the elevator doors open in front of them.

 

His warm fingers find hers and she leads him forwards.

 

The lights flicker to life as they step inside the open space of his private lounge, the elevator doors sliding shut behind them, and she’s never been here before, but it feels familiar enough with the vintage decor and care-worn furniture that no pesky nerves creep in to ruin the hot thrill that rushes up her spine as Bucky steps up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist.

 

He kisses at her shoulder, and Darcy closes her eyes, trying to recall her first message to him. She laughs.

 

“ _Hmph_?”

 

Bucky’s question is muffled against her skin. He doesn’t stop as he kisses along the length of her neck, not even as she laughs again, throaty and full.

 

She turns in his arms, slipping her own around his neck, and lifts herself up on her toes, raising a teasing eyebrow.

 

“You’re not the only one making good tonight.”

 

Bucky looks undone already, hair mussed and bun ruined by her lusty fingers, and he closes his eyes for a moment as she plucks at the hem of his shirt, kicking off her heels.

 

“ _Off_.”

 

She watches – because _who_ would want to miss _that_? – as Bucky lifts the shirt off over his head at her command, revealing his toned stomach and chest, scars lacing his shoulder surrounding the first metal plate of his bionic left arm.

 

The metal shines in the warm, dim lighting, and Darcy thinks back to when she first met Bucky, to when Steve had to vouch for him in everything for people to trust him, to now where Bucky’s word is just as good as Captain America’s, where his word is his _own_.

 

Darcy bites her lip, unsure of how they’re gotten here, but glad of it anyway.

 

She steps back, admiring the lines of his body, of his hips, and his hands twitch at his sides, fingers discarding the shirt in his grasp to the wooden floor.

 

She had been cautious once of his arm, unsure if it hurt even or it was a sore subject, but a few Avengers birthday parties later, she couldn’t see it the same way after watching Tasha poke a cocktail umbrella between two of the plates or seeing an excited little girl swing off of it at Rhodes’ niece’s birthday party, to which Darcy had been cordially invited and very glad of it too.

 

No, they had never talked much, he’d been right, but there, underneath it all, had been this, waiting.

 

Darcy sets her sights on his belt, and without a word, just a flick of her gaze, his hands reach to unbuckle it. He pulls it loose and lets it fall to the polished wood floor with a muted _clink_.

 

And he doesn’t stop there.

 

Darcy is watching, biting her lip at the corner, her chest full of butterflies, of excitement, and she is the powerful one, just like that night.

 

She waits, hands at her hips, as Bucky slips down the zip, taking a step towards her, letting the denim fall an inch further off his hips. She swallows.

 

His gaze is heavy, as if he’s drinking her in, as if she’s just as nearly naked as he is, but she wants this to play out like that night, just as she had said.

 

One finger hooked in the front of his jeans is all it takes to send them to the floor as he walks towards her, stepping out of them as he does, gripping her in one smooth motion and lifting her to the couch.

 

Her legs find purchase around his waist, and she can’t seem to care that he’s derailed her plans a little if that means he lays her underneath him, hand on her hip and beneath her shoulders as he sets his lips to her neck.

 

She runs her red nails down his back, scoring his skin as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, and that’s when she feels him smirk against her neck, lips curling at her collar bone, a hot breath of a laugh warming her skin.

 

But Darcy isn’t done.

 

She pushes him back against the soft leather and trades places with ease, slipping her leg across him to sit over his stomach. He stops that damn lopsided smiling when she peels her dress off over her head, and then she’s the one smirking, letting him drink her in again, from top to toe.

 

Darcy can feel him hard against her ass.

 

“Remember that first message?”

 

Bucky’s eyes meet hers, and she knows he’s _oh_ , _so_ , game.

 

She lifts herself away from his tantalisingly warm skin, standing to shimmy out of her floral print panties, before reaching back to unclip her bra. He stops her then, quick and sharp, his hair falling in his eyes as he sits up and looks at her, fingers warm and cold around her wrists.

 

His fingers replace hers, deft and agile, slipping beneath the hooks and unlatching them in one fluid motion. His soft mouth brushes against her ribs, moving up to meet the cup of her bra, stealing that last breath she’d been hanging onto.

 

Her knees wobble as the bra falls and his lips capture her rosy right nipple, drawing it tight against his tongue.

 

Darcy cries out, soft and breathless, and she looks down to see his blue eyes there, drawing hers, magnetising her gaze again. His stubble scratches gently at the soft skin of her breast, and she has lost the capacity to consider anything but what else he can do with that mouth, which, lucky for her, leads Darcy nicely onto what she had initially been planning.

 

She pushes him back, his lips breaking away to leave her nipple wet and shining, and she’s under no illusions about her strength. She can’t do anything to him that he doesn’t want.

 

Darcy climbs over Bucky, her heart pounding in her ears, and she slips her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, cradling his head in the palm of her hand, her nails scratching gently at his scalp, drawing a rare groan from his parted lips.

 

Her thighs settle against his, and there he is, thick and hard against her, just brushing at her lips as she trembles against him in lust rather than fear. His cock has fallen back against his twitching belly as he lies back against the couch at her touch, just as she had imagined, and Darcy supposes it had always been Bucky in her head that night, his face, his touch, his warm hand sliding up her thigh to grasp her ass.

 

Darcy presses both hands to his shoulders, watching him with baited breath. He slips beneath her at her touch as easy as a tide on sand, and, blue eyes on hers, presses his mouth to her folds, cold fingers spreading her open to his tongue.

 

She gasps at the sensation, cold metal and rounded fingertips clashing messily in her mind, and he laughs against her clit, eating at it as if it were his God-given talent, which, Darcy can easily attest, it really, really is.

 

One hand on his shoulder, the other on the back of the couch, she shudders above him, watching as he pulls her hips close to his mouth, dragging her back every time she bucks to make her do it over again.

 

Cold fingers turn warm as he buries them inside of her, and Darcy gasps easily, hips riding without further thought, and this is better than she had imagined, so much better all she can do is slip her fingers in his hair and hold on for dear life.

 

His breath against her, fevered and sharp, tongue working audibly against her, slick and agile, making wet noises against her slit as he sucks hard and curls his fingers, before licking her over and again to her very peak.

 

She might have just screamed a little. Just a bit. A touch. A wail, maybe.

 

But it doesn’t matter with Bucky between her thighs and sound-proofing between the floors.

 

Darcy looks down as she pulls his mouth from her twitching clit, her legs trembling with the effort of staying upright. His mouth comes away slick and wet, his bionic fingers too, and she knows that’s not what they were made for but they might as well have been the way Bucky uses them.

 

He’s short on breath, panting against the inside of her thigh, head turned to the side so she can see the shine against his mouth and chin, how his tongue licks it from his lips, brushing the soft pale skin of her thigh and making her clench.

 

Bucky smiles up at her with a cat-like grin. “So, you’re a screamer.”

 

Darcy blows out a slow breath, controlling her heart beat, and pushes her fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her face. A few moments later and she has the wherewithal to smile back at him, even more satisfied than the man between her legs.

 

“Shall we see if you are?”

 

Bucky doesn’t have time to catch her before she slips further down to kneel on the cool floor, dragging him down with her, her mouth finding his neck, teeth pressing hard against the cord that stands out as he bites back a groan, arms wrapping around her.

 

“How much can you take?” Darcy muses aloud, lips curving at his ear.

 

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed briefly, before they meet hers again, heavily lidded, his mouth parted and red.

 

“How much can you give?”

 

Darcy sets about making him see, knowing she can’t break him, knowing she can’t hurt him, only offset what she’s doing with her hands between them with her teeth against his shoulder. Her fingertips brush the head of his cock and he grunts, hard, jerking back against the couch, against her teeth, leaving marks in his skin as her mouth releases him.

 

His head falls back. “ _Fuck_.”

 

Darcy smiles, proud as punch sat on his lap, as she parrots him back. “You want that?”

 

“Can’t remember a time when I didn’t,” he breathes, and just for that second, she finds a raw honesty she hadn’t expected from tonight, a softer one than these revelations that he wants her this way.

 

Softer in the way that maybe he wants her more than this. Just maybe.

 

But the second passes and she wants more, wants him and everything, and she wants it _now_.

 

“D’you have a condom?” Darcy asks, because while she is usually as prepared as a Boy Scout, what with Jane and her propensity to run headfirst into _everything_ , this has kind of come out of left field and she hadn’t brought her purse to the party.

 

There isn’t ever much of a call for a taser in Stark Tower.

 

Bucky nods once, apple bobbing in his throat, lifting his hand from his hip to point at his jeans.

 

Darcy lifts an eyebrow at him and his pre-empted planning. “Really?”

 

He shrugs, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “You complaining?”

 

“Not at all,” she mutters as she regretfully climbs off of his lap and crawls to the puddle of denim on her hand and knees, fingers searching in the pockets.

 

Fingers slide up her back, pinning her in place, pushing her curls over her shoulder, lips following from the small of her back to her neck. Bucky presses himself against her back, over her, his lips at her ear.

 

She lost her breath somewhere between searching for the condom and feeling him grasp her hips to press them back against his, skin to skin. Darcy shivers beneath him.

 

“Found it?” He teases, and Darcy feels the foil at her fingertips, forehead falling to the cool wood floor as she pulls it from the pocket and holds it out above her head for him to just _take it_.

 

Darcy doesn’t care anymore, she just wants him inside of her already. That itch is killing her, damn it.

 

Bucky slips the condom from her grasp and directs her onto her back, crawling over her to look her in the eye, his lithe frame moulding to her with such shuddering ease.

 

“I want to see your eyes,” he tells her, breathed into her ear as she hears foil tearing.

 

His hand hitches her leg over his hip, and Darcy feels the blunt tip of his cock press against her spread folds, sliding sweetly up to meet her clit before he uses his thumb and finger to direct himself back down, pressing in slightly, eyes locking with hers.

 

Darcy’s hands fall back over her head as she watches him press closer to her, his hair falling around his face, his gaze heavy.

 

“I’ve got you,” Bucky tells her roughly, and of all the things that have hit deep, that finds something as yet untouched.

 

Darcy nods, eyes closing as he slips into her, hard and sharp and so sweet.

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

Bucky’s hips feel so good against hers, snapping once, twice, and then Darcy loses count in the maelstrom of what he does to her, his head dipping to her breast where she has arched her back into him.

 

Teeth toying with her nipple, he breathes hard against her skin, shaking as he fucks her. She had expected, even wanted, a punishing pace, but he’s slow and deliberate before he gets to that point, steady and hard inside of her, giving her the barest fraction of a second to miss him as he pulls back before she’s full again and whining beneath him like she has _never_ done before.

 

There’s something special here with Bucky, fucking feverishly on the floor of his lounge, something buried and waiting to be explored.

 

“I’ve got you, Darce,” he repeats breathlessly, cool fingertips finding her clit between their rolling hips, sending her reeling.

 

She’s done, spiralling beneath him, coming in his arms as he touches and grasps and holds her so perfectly, making her feel as if they’re one moving part rather than two connected.

 

But she doesn’t miss the yell he buries in her neck as his shoulders hunch and he comes, hips pushing hard into hers, hot and heavy and perfect as he falls against her and the shaking forearm he’s braced against the floor, warm fingers tangled with hers above her head.

 

He isn’t done, however.

 

“ _Fucking_ ,” Darcy gasps harshly beneath him and his rolling hips, “ _super-soldiers_.”

 

He laughs into her neck as he brings her to the peak again, running his hands down her body, fingertips catching at her breasts, drawing her out until she is nothing more than light and air and breath and a pounding heartbeat.

 

Bucky’s head falls to her breast. “Fuckin’ smart-mouth scientists.”

 

Darcy throws her head back and laughs.

 

They lie like that for a while, Bucky resting more of his weight against her with each passing second, and Darcy opening further to him, cradling him between her legs in a way that she’s never done in the past.

 

She runs her fingers through his hair, lifting a shoulder as if to get up. “Think they’ll be missing us?”

 

Bucky stops her, bringing her closer, sliding her into his lap as he sits back on his heels, before lifting her up and walking towards the darkened hallway to his bedroom where she sees a comfortable bed waiting. Darcy lets herself rest her forehead against his shoulder, her sex hair covering her face, and she’s already half-dozing, knowing that she definitely won’t regret this in the morning because sober decisions are better than drunken decisions.

 

Well, usually.

 

“Stay,” Bucky breathes, and Darcy can’t help but acquiesce so easily, the party lost in the aftermath of Bucky slipping once more between her aching thighs.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony lifts his head with a gasp to greet the morning, finding his face has been resting in what looks like the sad remains of a half-eaten slice of red and gold birthday cake, and that his lounge looks to have been the scene of a college-rate party. Squinting through his crooked and cake-smeared sunglasses, he looks over to see he’s not the only one in such a state.

 

The first thought that comes to mind is an unsettling one.

 

“Did Lewis drink me under the table?” He asks Clint, too loudly, who groans at the noise as he leans back in a chair opposite with a damp cloth over his eyes. “Because I want a _rematch_.”


End file.
